


from the rooftops

by kerrykins (orphan_account)



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-23 16:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17083562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/kerrykins
Summary: Through the haze of smoke, comes clarity-- this is not the case for Miranda Priestly. We join her every night on a rooftop, cigarette in hand and a girl on her mind.Experimental writing.





	1. love like you

**Author's Note:**

> I always thought I might be bad  
> Now I’m sure that it's true  
> ‘cause I think you’re so good  
> And I’m nothing like you
> 
> Look at you go  
> I just adore you  
> I wish that I knew  
> What makes you think I'm so special?

To a passerby, seeing Miranda Priestly perched on the rooftop on a townhouse would leave them scratching their heads. 

 

Luckily for her, it was night. The dark violet sky ensured she was hidden from view, and there was no one out tonight but her and the stars. Solitude was a rarity, and the editor greatly savoured moments like these. Just her and her thoughts, with the occasional whisper of a car passing by, or the flicker of a light going off in a far off building.

 

She inhaled deeply, sighing as the crisp summer air flooded her nostrils. Living in such close proximity to Central Park had its perks, one of them being the fact that it wasn’t as smog-ridden as the rest of New York. It had been quite some time since Miranda had decided to go out on the rooftop again, the most recent was when she and Stephen had just finalised their divorce a few months ago. 

 

She’d torn through almost a pack of cigarettes, cursed herself, her ex-husband, Elias-Clark shareholders, and every damn inconvenience in her life. Her words floated away from her like a grey wisp of smoke in the wind.

 

On this pleasant, summer night, the silver-haired fashion icon had something else on her mind. She was tempted to whip out a cartload of cigarettes and smoke until she couldn’t even remember her own name. It would be a highly effective though short-term solution.

 

Andrea. That girl’s unexpected declaration had shaken her.

 

\----

 

It was a Friday morning, unremarkable in every way. 

 

Everyone was floundering about to finalise things before the weekend, and Runway was bustling with activity. As usual, the junior assistant came breezing into her office with coffee in her arms and that stupid, sweet smile plastered on her face. 

 

“Good morning, Miranda,” she had chirped merrily. Always incredibly eager to please, but the older woman found that part of the girl so endearing. It wasn’t even close to being as obnoxious as the way Emily behaved, always a hysterical flurry of gaudy red hair and loud eyeshadow. 

 

Andrea on the other hand, was efficient and reserved. She’d complete tasks quickly, no words spoken. 

 

But she’d always deliver with that childish grin of hers, dark brown eyes glowing with sincerity. Miranda had admitted to herself a long time ago that she really did enjoy the girl’s company, and considered Andrea a friend. 

 

Nigel had long ago moved on from his art director position to Runway UK, and in his absence, Miranda realised that their companionship had been out of necessity. Andrea, however, had not abandoned her. In fact, the girl had extended her contract at Runway as Miranda’s assistant, refusing to leave despite the fact her two years had passed. Emily had moved on as well, and the editor hadn’t contacted Human Resources for a new assistant. Andrea was all she needed.

 

She was perfectly in tune with all her needs, wants, and expectations. The assistant often did things for Miranda without the editor having to say a word, whether it be a cup of coffee, proofs from the writing department, or just her comforting presence. Their relationship was relaxed and they worked well together.

 

Miranda felt herself smile unwillingly at the younger woman, murmuring a soft, “Good morning, Andrea. Could you please fetch those floral pieces from the Closet?” Friendly greetings and words like “please” and “thank you” managed to worm their way into Miranda’s vocabulary around her.

 

“I’ll get the ones for both this month and next month,” Andrea said with a nod, not missing a beat. “Do you need anything else?”

 

“No, that’s all. Thank you.” That last part came out as a whisper, and the girl regarded her thoughtfully before spinning out of her office. Miranda watched her leave, her stomach bubbling pleasantly for some unknown reason.

 

She had just sent an email when the brunette returned, cradling two dresses in her arms. Miranda knew her well enough to recognise that she was upset. The absent fidgeting with the corners of the dress, and the lip biting, adorable forehead creased in apprehension. Something was wrong, and Miranda was going to fix it.

 

“Andrea, what’s troubling you?” The older woman asked gently. She rose from her seat and began slowly making her way to the girl, briefly resting her hand on the girl’s arm. Touching had become normal between them, after all, they were close. Miranda didn’t need to fret about another assistant walking in and seeing them, because she didn’t have one.

 

The brunette wasn’t crying, but she looked pained as she spoke. “It’s nothing, Miranda. I’ll be fine in a bit.” She offered Miranda the dresses with a forced smile, who hastily set them on the desk before turning her attention back to the girl. 

 

“I know this isn’t nothing.” The editor’s voice was firm, but the sorrowful look that flitted across Andrea’s face made her soften. “Please tell me. If you don’t want to, I understand. You do know you can always talk to me, yes?” She daringly brushed her hand against the girl’s cheek, praying that Andrea would not be uncomfortable with it. To her surprise, the brunette’s eyes shut and she leaned into her touch, her arm entwining with Miranda’s. The older woman could smell her lavender perfume, and there was nothing but warmth coming off of the girl. She looked remarkably calmer. Those rich brown eyes fluttered open, gazing at Miranda though long lashes, and the older woman’s heart swelled with affection.

 

“I love you.”

 

Miranda was delicately stroking the girl’s chestnut curls, and her eyes widened, heart pounding dizzily. No, she must have misheard her. “I beg your pardon?” She hesitantly withdrew her hand. Andrea smiled at her weakly, looking pale. “Yeah.” She shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes glued to the floor.

 

Miranda’s mind reeled with questions, each heavy and pulling her deeper into a chasm of panic. How long? Why now? Why her, out of all the other people in Andrea’s life?

 

She parted her lips to respond, but words instantaneously died on her tongue. 

 

“I’m sorry,” the brunette whispered hoarsely. She was crying now, tears falling freely down her cheeks. Andrea sniffled, burying her lovely face in her hands.

 

Miranda wanted to comfort her, to tell her that everything was alright, that Andrea was too wonderful for someone like her. But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t speak, she could barely think. A cacophony of thoughts roared in her mind, each of them more confusing than the last.

 

“I’ll go home now, I’m so sorry.” The older woman just watched her helplessly as she walked out, shutting the office door behind her. She had probably stepped out of Miranda’s life for good. Would she return tomorrow? Miranda didn’t know. She didn’t know anything at all.

 

\----

 

Miranda wasn’t stupid. She was not a healthy person to be fond of, she knew that. She’d betrayed Nigel, her only friend, squashing his dreams to save her own career. Her three ex-husbands were a good indicator of the fact that she was not very skilled at keeping promises, maintaining relationships.

 

She was crabby, unpredictable, always enraged, impossible to please. The only person she knew that hadn’t disappointed her yet was Andrea. Despite how shocked she was at the abrupt confession, the girl still was far from disappointing. She was far from acceptable, she was the best thing Miranda had in her life, and always considered herself lucky to have gained the favour of someone so lovely. “Agreeable people always had ulterior motives, so it was wise to never trust anyone.”

 

But time and time again, Andrea would prove that mantra of hers incorrect. In Paris three years ago, she had gone to great lengths to warn Miranda of Irv and Jacqueline, even though the change would have improved her career. She’d refused to leave Miranda once her two years were up, agreeing to stay for a couple more. 

 

The older woman greatly cherished their friendship, it was quiet, intimate, and easy. Working away side by side on their computers was good enough, and Andrea didn’t demand that she sacrifice her career to spend more time with her. They both had been on the receiving end of that pressure, and respected each other’s ambitions and diligence to their jobs. 

 

If Miranda had to describe how it made her feel, it would be complete. Andrea completed her, and though they would be fine on their own, together they were something extraordinary. 

 

And Miranda has just ruined it all. She took a drag off her cigarette, staring absently out towards the city. This would surely crush their friendly morning chats, the small jokes they shared, those blinding smiles that Andrea gave her. They always felt special, as if they were meant only for Miranda and Miranda alone. Now she knew she had been correct.

 

Why the girl even enjoyed her company was beyond her. How could anyone love her, when she spent most of her time tearing people’s dreams apart, making grown men burst into tears, her employees cowering when they passed her in the halls? 

 

Andrea was a very sweet woman. She constantly performed acts of selflessness, offering her seat on the subway to children and the elderly, patching Caroline’s knee when she had tripped in the Closet. There were what? Seven billion people in the world.

 

And she had been the lucky one that Andrea loved. Miranda cared greatly for the girl, and there was no question she reciprocated her feelings. But she wasn’t deserving of Andrea, she didn’t deserve to press her lips against hers, or to hold her hand. 

  
_ I don’t deserve to love her in return _ , Miranda thought bitterly as she extinguished her cigarette.


	2. nothing is alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a quick drabble!! i actually wrote a lot more than this bit, but it wasnt very good. im glad yall enjoyed the last chapter so much, thank u for ur lovely comments! maybe ill update it in the future if i need a quick writing warm-up

Miranda fumbled with the lighter, and once her cigarette was lit, she held it between her teeth as she blindly rummaged about in her purse. When she scraped her hand on her keys, she shut her eyes in extreme vexation. She hadn’t cursed at the top of her lungs since her divorce from Stephen, and she didn’t have any intention of starting now. Though she was on a roof at 3:00 AM, she still should do her best to stay quiet. Otherwise others would try to intrude on her peace.

 

Today was no better than yesterday, much to her chagrin. Andrea hadn’t even showed up for work. She huffed, smoke curling from her nostrils. 

 

Her life was always stressful. But of all the possible things that could have driven her back to smoking, a habit she dropped decades ago, it was her goddamn assistant. Her beautiful, wonderful assistant that laughed heartily and cared about everyone. With sweet, caramel eyes that hit her with such a surge of emotion, it was overwhelming.

 

In general, Andrea was just-- a lot. So much energy, compassion, but there was a kind of steely resolve in her eyes that Miranda noticed. It mirrored the intensity Miranda often saw in her own eyes. 

 

The girl was kind, yes. But also stubborn, resilient, and she certainly wouldn’t let this little roadblock stop her. Andrea would persist, and tomorrow she would come back to Miranda. Back into her arms, even though the girl had no business being there, and Miranda had no business touching her.

 

Despite her seemingly constant cynicism, Miranda was a hopeful person. And now, she hoped for things to go back to normal, for Andrea to return, and for the universe to comply with her wishes for once. It owed her that much.

 

\---

 

Miranda had stormed into the office, throwing her coat violently at the nearest Runway employee, who staggered under its weight. She tossed her bag on top of the heap of fur, not offering an explanation, nor any orders. Thank God the blonde woman knew what to do, otherwise Miranda would have just fired her on the spot. She didn’t have the patience for idiocy today. 

 

As she strode to her office, she tried very hard not to care about the unoccupied desk she passed by. A kind of unsettling emptiness fell over her, and she bit her lip. This was fine, she was fine. She could survive one day without Andrea, Miranda Priestly didn’t need friends, or assistants. The editor was more than capable of managing her own damn schedule, fetching her own coffee, and if worst came to worst, she’d hang up her own coat. 

  
_ I don’t need anyone, I’ve come this far on my own _ , she thought to herself, mouth curling into a confident smirk.  _ Everything was going to be fine. _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm in a bit of a writing funk right now, and it seems as though this little story is the only thing i'm capable of adding to. thank you all so much for all the lovely comments, and i apologise for any mistakes you see here.

It was not fine, far from it in fact. As much as it pained her to admit it, she was utterly lost without the doe-eyed brunette at her side.   
  
Miranda ran a hand through her silver hair in distress, tousling her meticulously styled curls. The new art director, Pamela, raised an eyebrow when she came to give Miranda some mock-ups for next month’s issue, but didn’t comment on the editor’s oddly subdued demeanor. She had been totally unaware of how many times people called her office a day. It was somewhere in the hundreds.

 

Her spontaneous burst of independence and rebellion was vanquished quickly by the staggering workload. Eventually, she relented and contacted Human Resources, and now there was a skinny, blonde girl occupying Emily’s old desk. Her face was deadpan as she spoke on the phone, grey eyes cold and impassive. Not at all reminiscent of Andrea’s chocolate ones, swirling with compassion and hope. Whether or not that was good was yet to be determined.

 

Jessica-- she believed that was the girl’s name, but it didn’t particularly matter if it wasn’t. Considering she had received no instruction on how to perform her job correctly, she was doing adequately so far. However, Miranda believed she’d only last a number of days. A sea of new assistants would follow, and Miranda would tear through their dreams of staying at Runway, leaving a blazing trail of crestfallen girls in her wake. None of them were  _ her _ .

 

It wasn’t their fault that they weren’t Andrea, it was impossible for them to be her, especially when Miranda didn’t even vocalise what she wanted from them. But she desperately needed an outlet for her anger, needed someone other than to herself to blame. Once she was home, she could break herself down into as many tiny bits of shattered glass as she’d like, drown her misery in smoke, but at the office she had to have some semblance of control. 

 

If the girl had showed up to work today, Andrea would have been able to pick up on her mood. She’d be warm and kind, and Miranda would fit so perfectly in her arms, like she belonged there. 

 

Those firm, reassuring arms would wrap around her shoulders, and everything else would become irrelevant. It would just be the two of them, sharing an embrace, a moment of tranquility in a world of chaos. Tension ebbed out of her so easily, like waves cascading down a waterfall. She could finally breathe.

 

Too bad she’d never experience that kind of peace again, considering she’d ruined everything. She always did. Her family, ex-husbands, daughters despised her. Miranda would come back to an empty home, with plenty of room for her thoughts to wander down dark corners, and excavate repressed memories.

 

\---

 

Miranda’s cigarette slipped through her fingers and tumbled onto the roof. She made quick work of stamping the glowing embers out. She got distracted for a moment.

 

Miranda hadn’t been able to pay much attention at the office earlier today, feeling too sick to glance over the fabric swatches on her desk, or even eat lunch. 

 

_ God, I can’t keep living like this _ , the woman thought helplessly as she struck a match, and then leaned into the flame to light a new cigarette. Smoking, daydreaming, and skipping meals were unbecoming habits.

 

If Andrea didn’t come tomorrow, there was no telling what would happen to what was left of her mind.


End file.
